


One Good Turn

by Anoke



Series: Some Fucking *Bullshit* [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Lambert's backstory is depressing as hell you guys, Minor Character Death, Murder, Not much but it's there, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Revenge, Swearing, or very little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24319645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoke/pseuds/Anoke
Summary: Before starting out on the Path, a newly graduated Lambert takes a trip back home.
Series: Some Fucking *Bullshit* [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755709
Comments: 23
Kudos: 196





	One Good Turn

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Denial](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722486) by [tnico](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnico/pseuds/tnico). 



> A million thanks to tnico for inspiring this and for a comment on their fic Upending that I'm stealing for the series name.
> 
> EDIT: NOW WITH ART!! [HE LOOKS SO MISERABLE I LOVE IT](https://hehearse.tumblr.com/post/636161677564542976/commission-for-anoke-based-on-their-wonderful-fic)

Lambert walked towards a little house on the outskirts of a tiny village in Temeria. The paint on the window carvings hadn't been refreshed in an age, the shutters were sagging— and the garden was completely overgrown. That sent a chill down Lambert's spine. Mom _loved_ that garden. Some of his earliest memories were of her working in it. It was possible—just barely, but _possible_ —that she had left. Moved in with her sister and her sister's husband in their house in the village.

Lambert thought about it for a solid minute before he strode over and kicked the door in.

The old man, stinking of cheap booze, scrambled for a knife. Some things never changed, but Lambert had. It was far too easy to relieve his father of the blade and throw it into one of the wall beams.

"Well well. No recognition? Or are you just too drunk to see straight?" Lambert asked. It was probably both, honestly.

"Who—" his dad spluttered.

"Aww, I feel unappreciated. It's barely even been a decade; don't you recognize your own _child?_ " Lambert said, sweetly venomous.

He watched the old man meet his eyes, saw his face go pale under the blotchy flush of alcohol. He could _smell_ the acrid fear-sweat he broke out in, heard the man's heart pick up even further. It was more than a little gratifying, honestly. He'd hated and feared his father for so long, it was nice to be getting a little of his own back.

"Yeah, surprise surprise, I _lived_ ," he said. "Turns out I _am_ good at something. Hell, even a lot of things, now."

“Son,” his dad started, licking his lips nervously.

“Oh, it’s ‘son’ now, huh? What happened to ‘boy’, or ‘stupid brat’?” Lambert asked with a casual air.

“Well, it’s— it’s been awhile, y’see—" the man spluttered.

"Yeah. It has,” Lambert said, coldly. “So, Dad. I have just one question for you. _Where's. Mom._ "

Lambert could see the answer as soon as the question left his mouth. His dad looked like a trapped animal.

"I don't— she never came back, of an evening," his father said, lying to his _fucking face._ "Mayhap she were killed by a monster, same as I almost was."

Lambert marveled for a couple of seconds, heard his dad's heart slow down at his lack of immediate objection to the lie, before giving the man a shove that sent him tripping back over his feet. "That's your story? Lilit's rotten _cunt_ , did _anyone_ believe that?"

"That's— that's the truth!" his dad croaked.

"I wouldn't believe that pack of bullshit even if I wasn't a fucking mutant now," Lambert said. "One more time. I want to hear you say it. _Where is my mother?_ "

The dam broke. The excuses his dad babbled weren't anything Lambert hadn't heard before, but funnily enough, roughly a decade spent with dozens of people who were all completely capable of not hurting anyone just because they were angry made them ring emptier than ever.

"How long?" he interjected, cutting off the stream of self-pitying bullshit.

"What?" his dad asked, confused.

"How long did it take after you traded me for your worthless life for you to murder Mom?"

“I didn’t—”

“Fine, then when did you _accidentally beat her to death?_ ” Lambert snapped.

The man decided not to push it any further. "Th—three springs past."

_Fuck._

Three springs past, Lambert was lying in his bed at Kaer Morhen with a fever, covered in bruises and having nosebleeds approximately every three hours, wondering if he was going to die. Apparently it was relatively common for _more_ shit to go wrong with the mutations during puberty, as a lot of the structural changes happened during it. Lambert had been experiencing one of the more common problems; the changes to a Witcher's bones and organs could go wrong, cause the development of tumors or degradation of a Witcher's body. Of course, Lambert's luck meant that despite his problem being common, it was one of the more perilous ones.

He lived, obviously, but—

He shook off the thought and clenched his fists.

"You know, I wasn't entirely committed to what I was going to do when I came back here. Maybe if Mom were still alive she could have talked me out of it," Lambert said, taking a threatening step forward.

"Y—you're not supposed t'kill people!" his dad spluttered.

Lambert affected a confused face. "I'm not? Huh. What the hell is this steel sword for, then?" he asked, drawing it. "Decoration?"

He'd been, for a little while, considering using the silver sword for this—but he ultimately decided against it. His dad wasn't a griffin or a basilisk or even a drowner; he was just a spectacularly shitty man. And he was going to die like one.

Lambert blinked reflexively as the arterial spray hit his face. He’d gotten most of the front of the man’s neck, cutting through artery, vein, and esophagus. It'd kill him faster than he probably deserved, but Lambert was done with this bullshit.

The esophagus was probably unnecessary; it wasn't as though there was anyone within screaming distance; he’d learned that in the most visceral way possible as a child. All the same it wasn't _un_ satisfying to watch the man realize he couldn’t even beg as he tried desperately to stem the flow of blood. His hands dropped a few seconds later as he lost consciousness.

Lambert waited until his father's heart stopped before he dug out a cloth and wiped off his sword and himself.

He knew, he _knew_ that his dad had sold everything of Mom's to buy more booze, if it'd been three years— _you won't die, just get other people killed instead—_

He couldn't stop himself from digging through the entire house anyway. Nothing. Not a scrap of clothing, none of the blankets or the warm cloak that had been part of her dowry chest, not even the one good kettle that Mom had inherited from her mother, the one that Aunt Irina had always joked about stealing—

A chill went down his spine.

He'd asked, hadn't he? Did anyone believe his dad's pack of lies? _Did_ they? Or had they known and just ignored it anyway? Had Aunt Irina _known_ that her brother-in-law was beating her sister and nephew? 

...which was worse? Knowing and not doing anything, or willful ignorance? Did he _want_ to know which it was that prevented his dad from starving to death over the last three years?

Lambert licked his suddenly-dry lips. Of course he wanted to know. The far better question was if it was a good idea. He'd just wanted to come back, see what had happened to Mom, get his long-awaited vengeance, and disappear before he really started on the Path. He hadn't thought about actually seeing his aunt again; he'd usually only seen her once a month or less, when he and Mom had had an excuse—like a traveling merchant she could sell pickles to—to go into town. He doubted she had any idea what had happened to him.

Would she look at the muscular swordsman with viper eyes and see the scrawny, quiet kid she’d given bits of bread and honey to while talking with Mom? Or would he be a homicidal freak in her eyes?

_Shit. Speaking of homicidal..._

The cooling corpse in the room presented another compelling reason not to go meet with extended relatives. His dad being a drunk who beat him or not, he was a Witcher now, and his dad was human, and if the village put his appearance and his dad’s death together, he’d be in trouble. Hell, he’d get _other Witchers_ in trouble.

That was what decided it. Life was hard enough already; he couldn't make it harder for them all. 

Lambert glanced around the house again and was struck by just how tiny it felt. Not only physically, either, despite his room at Kaer Morhen being roughly the same size as this space that had once housed three. When he'd lived here, life had been so… small. Helping mom in her garden and at the hearth, trying to avoid his dad, finding an adequate hiding spot for his few little treasures and a penny or two from Mom's profits were the biggest concerns in his life. He wasn't totally sure he wouldn't go back if he could, although ideally without his dad—but he was too big for that life now. Now, not even twenty, he'd already seen more of the Continent than most of the population did in a lifetime, has had a better if narrower education than probably even most minor nobles, and was expected to fight and bleed and eventually die killing monsters for little coin and less gratitude.

A capercaillie called in the woods, shaking him out of his reverie. He needed to leave; he'd been here too long already, tearing apart the house looking for a memento. All the same, he couldn't resist spending a few minutes in the remains of Mom's garden before he slipped away into the trees.

**Author's Note:**

> Lambert? Almost completely inured to death? At age nineteen? naaaaaaaaaahhh, I'm sure it's fine.
> 
> Small PSA: Lambert's opinions are not my own. There are quite a few more possible scenarios with his aunt (especially because, while Lambert doesn't realize it, his dad was ABSOLUTELY isolating them from other relatives), but Lambert is a shitty traumatized nineteen-year-old who just found out his mother died of domestic violence three years ago, he's not thinking on particularly generous terms, okay? Okay.
> 
> EDIT: finally saw a video of what happens if you have Geralt be a jackass when Lambert's telling you about his past and [apparently this is just canon](https://youtu.be/3muSWKoL8dc?t=2289)


End file.
